


Winter Wonderland

by merakily (fengbi)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Airports, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Blind Character, Christmas Party, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Music, Party, Sick Character, Snow Angels, Snowball Fight, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Timers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-06 13:45:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5419319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fengbi/pseuds/merakily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of fics written for USUK Winter Wonderland Week 2015.</p><p>Day 1 (Snow): In which Arthur is hit by a snowball and Alfred meets his soulmate. (And almost gives him a concussion).</p><p>Day 2 (Activities): In which Arthur makes a snow angel and Alfred joins him.</p><p>Day 3 (Party): In which America sits back and tells Norway about his relationship with England.</p><p>Day 4 (Holiday Preparation): In which Arthur controls Alfred's holiday splurging.</p><p>Day 5 (Cozying Up Together): In which Arthur and Alfred cuddle.</p><p>Day 6 (Holiday Travels): In which Alfred starts an one man band in the airport and Arthur joins him.</p><p>Day 7 (Anything): In which Arthur opens a couple dozen boxes and Alfred proposes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Abominable Soulmate

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1: Snow

Day 1: Snow

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

Arthur had waited twenty-three bloody years for this moment and god forbid if anything tried to come between him and his soulmate. He strode down the sidewalk, indulging in his leisurely late afternoon walk. His woolen trench coat and scarf were a tad too thin for the brisk winter air, but Arthur wanted to make a good first impression. The slim coat showed off his thin waist and his grey scarf brought out his eyes. 

Gloved fingers rested in his pockets, as Arthur turned the corner. He took deep breaths, inhaling, exhaling, to remain calm and collected. Arthur focused on the yards he walked past and, being the cynic he was, critiqued the shovelling job of every single house on the street and glared at the Christmas lights people had been too lazy to take down. Hopefully his soulmate was not one of those types.

Up ahead, a couple of teenagers were yelling at each other, in the midst of a snowball fight. Arthur shook his head, eying them with an unimpressed, disdainful gaze. Children.

As Arthur approached that house, he could pick up more details of the two fighting teens. Both were blond and wore glasses. One was decked in a tacky, disgustingly patriotic red and blue parka lined with stars, the other in a slightly less tacky red and white ski jacket. Arthur winced as the tackier one dove onto a half buried shrub to avoid a snowball. The poor plant. Surely his soulmate would have more poise than that.

Across the street a young couple walked in the opposite direction, engrossed in a strong discussion involving wild gestures and raised voices. Arthur watched them, wondering what they were talking about. He wasn’t paying attention to where he was going and just barely registered the cry of “Hey watch out!”

Too late.

A ball of snow collided with the side of his face, drenching him in cold, cold snow and shattering his carefully pieced together composure. In a few short, lengthy seconds there was silence. Time had stopped. No one moved, until Arthur slowly reached up to shake the snow off his scarf, out of his hair, and wiped it off his face.

His eyes narrowed into poisonous green slits, fixing his deadly gaze on to the perpetrator. He was so overcome by a sudden wave of rage that he didn’t hear the soft click of his watch coming undone, or the sudden lack of pressure on his wrist or recognize the pure love that practically oozed out of the brat’s blue eyes.

Arthur opened his mouth, preparing to unleash a tirade of angry insults. 

Yet again, the bloody twat thwarted his plans.

The teen tramped through the snow, towards Arthur, arms wide open. There was a little patch of ice on the sidewalk. The idiot conveniently stepped on the little patch of ice. As expected, he slipped on the ice. His arms flailed wildly as he fought to regain his balance. He failed. He crashed into a fuming Arthur and the two of them went down, a tangled mess of thrashing limbs. A loud thump resounded when the back of Arthur’s head met the snowy ground. A string of very colourful swears, courtesy of Arthur, filled the air.

The stupid teen made no move to get off of Arthur. At first, Arthur was almost worried he had somehow hurt himself. Then he realized he was being squeezed in a very, very, uncomfortably tight embrace. The other person nuzzled Arthur’s neck, whispering a string of embarrassingly sappy phrases. “My honey, I can’t believe it’s you! You’re so beautiful, you know that. This is amazing. You’re amazing. Gosh, I love you so much I’ve had our futures planned out since forever! Mmm, sweetheart, you’re so cute we’re perfect together! I’m your hero!”

Arthur spluttered something incomprehensible, frozen in shock. 

“...and we’re going to have two cats and we’re going to give them super awesome names like Hero and Superman. Oh I almost forgot we need to go on a date. I like McDonald’s so I was thinking about picking up some burgers and having a picnic.”

Eventually, the (heavy) idiot released Arthur and rested his weight on his arms instead. Still hovering above Arthur, he flashed a blinding grin and stuck out a hand. “By the way, I’m Alfred F. Jones!”

Arthur could have cried.

From the porch, the other teenager -- the less stupid one -- held up his phone, capturing this moment forever. Judging by the murderous look on his brother’s soul mate's face, Matthew’s efforts would be well rewarded.


	2. Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur makes a snow angel and Alfred joins him.

Day 2: Activities

Arthur loved the snow. 

He loved the texture of the snow, the cool flakes melting in his palm and dripping onto the ground below. He loved the feeling of catching snow on his face, chilly, comforting spots across his skin. The cold was the perfect remedy for the heat he despised so much. He loved the fluffiness of the snow drifts and was content to lie there in the snow for hours at a time. He loved it because it didn’t remind him of London.

Arthur could imagine the flakes fluttering down, raining diamonds and magic. Pity he would never see the beauty of winter for himself.

He loved everything and anything related to the snow, but his unrivaled favourite was snow angels. 

Arthur laid in the snow, in an untouched patch of snow just off the sidewalk. His arms and legs spread out and moving, absently, and he felt the softness of the snow break underneath him, slowly sinking. It was comforting, feeling the cool warmth surrounding him. The snow crunched as his arm continued to move, drawing wings, creating a perfect image of holy innocence. 

A few metres away stood a bus stand. Some of the travellers missed Arthur completely, too busy burrowing their noses in a book, fiddling with their phones, or preoccupied with small armies of children. Others noticed Arthur. Couples and small groups leaned in close to whisper about the strange man with the thick eyebrows and empty, soulless green stare behind mittened hands and giggles. Those travelling alone would send off a quick text to their friends, telling them of the ‘strange guy making snow angels in the snow omg what if he’s homeless!??’. The odd child would walk by, sometimes throwing a handful of snow at Arthur, only to be chided by an accompanying sibling.

But no one considered him worth anymore of their time, their minds preoccupied with Christmas gifts and family reunions. None of them thought to consider that all Arthur really needed was a little companionship. A break from his dark prison, his shattered eyesight the outcome of a fiery accident back in London. 

Swish, swish.

Back and forth, up and down, his limbs swung in the snow, pendulums against his body. At some point it had begun to snow, but Arthur embraced the bitter cold on his face. After all, every little feeling counted when one could only see an endless, pitch black emptiness.

Then Arthur heard someone come up to him, snow crunching beneath heavy boots. He felt a body lie down beside him, joining him in the snow. The newcomer repeated the actions, open close, open close. No words were shared, but the silence conveyed so much more than words ever could.

With only the sound of their own breaths, they continued to make angels. 

Sometimes the tips of their fingers would brush together. When that happened, the newcomer would lightly close his gloved fingers over Arthur’s bare fingers, red with cold, before releasing them just as fast, then continued his angel as if nothing happened at all. 

Arthur’s thoughts were swimming, blinding images of fiery reds and oranges, replaced by mechanical beeping and limbs strapped to hospital beds, whether a shard of ice could kill a human and then peace. The sun was out. In his mind he was in a field. Rolling green hills. A single marigold, stem snapped in half. So many images overloading his mind. The absurdity of it all pushed Arthur over the edge. 

He opened his mouth and laughed, completely lost in a fit of insanity. Or was it sanity? Arthur didn’t know, didn’t care, just curled up in the ball and rolled around, ruining his angel, laughing until he couldn’t possibly have the energy to laugh any more. His stomach was sore from all the laughter.

In the aftermath Arthur lay on the ground, in the snow, catching his breath. The ghost of a smile remained on his lips. Watery green eyes threatening to overflow; it had been a long time since Arthur had heard himself laugh, since he had released such an unbashful declaration of joy.

It was a duly needed change.

Beside him, his companion, an American just barely out of his teens, grinned. “Today’s a perfect day for snow angels, yeah? Name’s Alfred Jones.” He stuck a hand out towards Arthur.

Arthur lips curved up a bit more, ever so slightly. 

“Yes. It’s always a fine time for a snow angel.”

Empty green pools stared blankly ahead, unaware and ignorant of the hand offered to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I think these were supposed to be happy prompts for fluffy holiday cheer. Oops.
> 
> I don't own Hetalia ^^


	3. Fairy Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which America sits back and tells Norway about his relationship with England.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Norway talks, he refers to the countries with their Norwegian translations. Denmark is Danmark, America is Amerika, and England is just England.

Day 3: Party

It was chaos.

Early in the evening, Prussia had challenged Denmark and England to a drinking contest. A few hours later, they were probably going to die of alcohol poisoning. Even Gilbird had plopped down on the table, occasionally stumbling around and weakly flapping his wings before plopping down again. Still, the sea of assorted alcoholic beverages was unending. France was doing his best to egg them on.

Germany was (unsuccessfully) trying to remove Prussia from the beer whilst simultaneously trying to control Italy’s wine intake. For his part, Italy had thrown a wine glass at Romano and was drunkenly bawling about the theft of his art. Romano had joined him, bawling about the injustice of the potato bastard’s existence. 

Spain was fast asleep, underneath the Christmas tree.

No one could hear them, but Austria and Hungary were performing a piano and violin duet. 

Finland, Sweden, Sealand had dressed up at as Santas, throwing stray candy canes in the air. Most of them were eaten by Hanatamago. 

Somewhere, Israel was smacking nations with a lit menorah. Sometimes they caught on fire.

It was an unanimous agreement that the annual International Holiday party led to more harm than good, and really was not worth the money spent. In two weeks time, once the nations were mostly almost recovered, new feuds and rivalries would plague the already tumultuous world stage. Occasionally, a declaration of war would accidentally be signed. The party really only served to negate the efforts and diplomatic campaigns carried out in the year.

For America, this was his one night of peace. He didn’t have to show himself off as the dominant world superpower, the horrible superpower with good intentions but embarrassingly bad solutions, the attention stealing, meddlesome power that the United States of America was. America chose to spend the annual Christmas party sitting back, for once able to pass on the spotlight.

This year he was joined by Norway, who seemed to be talking to himself. Occasionally Norway would glance over at Denmark, chuckling softly when patches of his clothing were mysteriously cut off and when his hair began to knot itself. America swore someone (or something) was poking Denmark’s belly. Norway was doing something with his hands, an almost petting motion, an action England often did. America was pretty sure he saw a spark jump off Norway’s finger.

“It’s strange, you know. Quite unfair.” Norway suddenly spoke up, voice devoid of emotion. He didn’t look up from his hands.

America looked around for anyone else the Nordic could have been addressing. “What, me?”

Norway’s hands paused, and he shot America a deadpan look. “One would think, after marrying England, you would have more respect for the fairies. They must like you because of England.”

America could probably count the number of conversations he’d had with Norway on one hand, but if he was anything like England, it would be in his best interests to humour Norway. “Do fairies like Denmark?”

Norway smirked. “Danmark is stupid and is the mortal enemy of every one of my friends. How he manages to piss off creatures he can’t even see is beyond comprehension.”

“But aren’t you dating him?”

Norway’s violet eyes filled with a sort of dark affection. “My relationship with Danmark cannot be defined by mere words. It is a long and complex history we share. You’re too young to understand how it is to be a nation. I would not have expected England to chose to settle for such a mundane, such a human relationship with you.”

“But he loves me?” Norway was a difficult person to read, nevermind converse with, and America was painfully reminded of why he chose to leave Norway and Iceland to their own devices.

“Love is primitive. Feral. It is in your’s, and England’s, best interests to stop humanizing your existence, Amerika. Amerigo.”

America looked downed, fingers fidgeting in his lap. “I’m not really sure what you mean. But I do know that I love England and I’m pretty sure England at least kind of likes me back. Special Relationship, you know? And I don’t really get this whole humanizing things thing but I like being married to England and I love spending time with him and waking up to him beside me and fighting battles with him and going on long car trips and getting lost. I’m even okay with his food. If humanizing things is bad, I want to be human forever.” He felt Norway’s heavy gaze leave him.

“Mmm, be as it may, it is in our best interests for us to separate now, and separate our partners.”

In a single, fluid motion, Norway stood, heading for a tangled mess of barely conscious drunks comprised of Denmark and England. America trailed behind second later, after wrapping his head around his conversation with Norway.

Across the room, Kumajiro bit Russia’s pinky and ring fingers off. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amerigo Vespucci was an Italian explorer for whom the Americas are named for. Norway referencing America as Amerigo is meant to emphasize how he was named for a human, enforcing his humanity.


	4. Christmas Planning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 (Holiday Preparation): In which Arthur controls Alfred's holiday splurging.

Day 4: Holiday Preparation

“America, we’re in a recession.” England sighed as he sipped his tea. All morning, America had been bouncing off the walls, so excited and desperate to waste money on useless items.

“More reason to celebrate! It’s been a tough year for everyone, and if we spend more money then we’ll stimulate the economy and more money will be flowing and there won’t be a recession and everyone wins!”

England turned the page of his book. Flip.

“And we can go to the mall and get all these free samples and sit on Santa’s lap and take a picture with him and sing Christmas carols! And we can buy Christmas gifts too and avoid the last minute shopping rush! Look at how much you’ve rubbed off on me. Pleeease can we go?” America flashed the best pouty puppy dog eyes he could summon.

Flip.

America grabbed a catalogue off the coffee table and waved it in front of England’s face. He violently stabbed at an electric pencil holder that was remote controlled and lit up. “Look at what a good deal this is! It’s so cool how can you not want this?” The truth was, Alfred did know why Arthur wasn’t impressed by any new (useless) technology that came out. He was so old, he had simply ceased to be surprised by anything anymore. Once his empire collapsed, England had settled for a simpler lifestyle with no traces of his former lavish preferences. “Seriously old man, you have to go shopping with me! Everything is on sale and we can spend the rest of the day decorating!”

Flip.

“Come on! Stop being such an old man! How can you not be excited for Christmas! You guys practically invented the Christmas tree why aren’t you getting off the couch!?”

Finally, Arthur looked up from his book. He responded drily, “Germany came up with the Christmas tree. He brought it over as part of a political exchange. America, you’re in a recession. You have a forest of Christmas trees sitting in your attic and rooms solely dedicated to the storage of decorations.”

“Yeah, but they’re old. It’s different. I can’t just reuse my tree from 1984 that would be lame! Prussia will never let me forget.”

“So don’t invite him.”

“Turkey will think I’m too poor and try to convince Greece to convince Prussia to convince Germany to invade my vital regions!”

England massaged his temples and sighed. “Stop being such a colony. You know that Germany will do no such thing. He’s not stupid enough to get us into another war. Greece is also too lazy to convince anyone of anything other than giving him more money. And if Turkey is such an issue, don’t invite him either. He doesn’t even celebrate Christmas.”

America pouted. “You just suck the fun out of everything. I don’t know why I still hang out with you.” He looked so dejected that even Nantucket was drooping. Guilt tugged at England’s heartstrings. 

England slipped his bookmark between his pages and set the book aside. He pulled America down so they were sitting side by side. 

“America,” England cautiously started, “why we spend a quiet Christmas together without all the other nations? Anytime you have more than three nations in the same place at once is a war zone and we have enough of that during world meetings. Besides, you hate cleaning up and you never get worthwhile gifts. Not to mention the thousands of dollars of property damage you end up with. And we never really get to spend Christmas together.”

America was silent.

“Half the countries don’t celebrate Christmas either, so why not just have a quiet holiday like Japan? We can go shop for a Christmas tree in your attic and decorate it ourselves? You always loved putting up your own decorations when you were a colony, so why hire humans to do it? We’ll have a quiet night in. Just the two of us and Canada. You won’t have to chase everyone around and your neighbours won’t report you for being disruptive. How does that sound?”

America smiled. 

“Perfect.”


	5. Angel in my Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur and Alfred cuddle.

Day 5: Cozying up together

A head lands on Alfred’s shoulder, briefly breaking his attack combo in his game.

He carries out the remainder of the attack before closing the gaming device. He tosses the device off to the side.

Alfred looks down at the weight on his shoulder, seeing the tousled ash blond hair of his boyfriend, fiance, soulmate, everything. His Arthur.

A book sits on Arthur’s lap, held open by lax fingers. Arthur is asleep, shaky breaths accompanied by the inconsistent rise and fall of his chest. Alfred gently pries the book out of Arthur’s grip to place on the table beside the couch. He knows Arthur will have a fit if the book is dented in any way. It’s the principle of it, he says, books must always be worn down naturally. Dog ears and small rips and imprints are sacrilege and an insult to the book. Arthur is the writer; Alfred knows better than to challenge him.

Warm rays of sunlight streak into the room, dousing Arthur and Alfred in a shower of light. It’s even brighter outside, everything coated in white diamond sheets. 

Alfred wraps an arm around Arthur, pulling the sleeping boy even closer, Arthur nestles in easily, Too easily. Alfred pretends he can’t feel Arthur’s ribs through the thick sweater he’s wearing. Pretends that the hand weakly clutching his shirt is not frail and bony.

Arthur is an angel in the light, beams of sunlight entwining his hair, painting a halo above his head, and giving his unhealthily pale skin an ethereal sheen. So pale, so white, so devoid of colour, skin was not meant to be that pale. Arthur had always been pale, always small and sickly, but Alfred had accepted him anyway. Like most people, Alfred admires beautiful things and Arthur is without a doubt the most beautiful person in the world. Even when he is spewing up fluid in his lungs or the contents of his stomach. Even when he is covered in his own blood from ripping out yet another IV. 

Alfred runs a hand through Arthur’s hair, soft, thin strands tickling his fingers. He presses a kiss to the crown of his head.

Alfred leans in, resting his head on Arthur’s, and enclosing Arthur in his warm embrace. It wouldn’t do for Arthur to catch a cold, so close to the holiday season.

Together they sleep, half upright on the couch, room perfectly still. Outside a gust of wind blows, scattering a mesh of diamond snowflakes into the cold, winter air.

It’s such a beautiful day, today. The ugliness of reality can wait for tomorrow, when Arthur doesn’t wake up.


	6. Musicality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alfred starts an one man band in the airport and Arthur joins him.

Day 6: Holiday travels

For the umpteenth time, Alfred checked the time on his phone. Still another hour left. 

Across the aisle, seated on an equally uncomfortable airport seat, was some other passenger, presumably waiting for the same flight as him. In the seven hours Alfred had been waiting, the other man had barely moved. Occasionally a page turned, a leg crossed, uncrossed, sometimes he would reach for a tea tumbler and take a sip. He was some sort of avid reader, being on his third book without a break in between. 

This wasn’t the first time Alfred had considered interrupting him, and instigating a conversation. His two hours of infinite Candy Crush lives had run out and he just didn’t have the patience to read a book. He drummed his hands on his lap, softly humming some mainstream pop tune and nodding his head. His foot tapped to keep the beat.

Alfred’s gaze had shifted to stare out the window, at the light dusting of snow and planes taking off to reunite families, separate quarrelling lovers, and take lonely travellers off to exotic new locations. It was really quite romantic, the holiday season.

Alfred continued his actions, effectively perfecting the art of being a one man band. 

“I’m just a poor boy, nobody loves me.”

The beat faltered when the avid reader across from Alfred opened his mouth. His book was now closed, and his attention was focussed on Alfred.

“Well? Continue on, lad, I don’t see anything else around here who can drum.”

He was British. If hadn’t Alfred hadn’t already been attracted (disregarding his sly stolen peeks between Candy Crush moves), he most certainly was now.

The beat resumed, Alfred shifting the beat to suit his singer. 

“Too late, my time has come.” Smooth vocals filled the boarding gate. “So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye?”

No one would have expected the uppity Brit dressed in stylish high end designer clothing looking very much like a graduated upper class boarding school brat to be a natural rock singer. 

Later, Alfred would learn his singer, a Lord Arthur Kirkland, was the son of the 6th Marquess of Oxford with a budding career as a tenor and was on his way to America for a stint in Juilliard.


	7. A Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur opens a couple dozen boxes and Alfred proposes.

Day 7: Anything

“Come on Artie! Hurry up and open it!” Alfred was on the verge of imploding from overexcitement. His big, blue eyes fixated on the giant box sitting on Arthur’s lap.

Arthur chuckled. “Yes, well, your gift better be as impressive as you've made it out to be, love.”

Steadily, he drew the box cutter down the centre of the box. He lifted one flap, then a second flap, and peered inside to see what this amazing gift was. 

He was met with another box. Arthur looked up, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. Alfred grinned like a Cheshire cat. Arthur expected there were many more boxes to come.

He was right.

Eight boxes later, their living room was filled with boxes and stray paper. It was ridiculous.

“If this goes on any longer, I won’t have a gift.” 

Alfred said nothing, merely gesturing for Arthur to continue.

Another eight boxes went by, until Arthur was left holding a match box covered in decorative tape. 

Arthur stared at the little box sitting on his palm. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Either would have been an appropriate reaction. No wonder Alfred had been so excited. Without looking at the American, Arthur violently chucked the little match box in his general direction.

Moments later, he felt larger hands close around his. Alfred knelt before him, timid smile on his face and holding the match box out towards him. He chuckled nervously.

“Okay maybe this wasn’t the greatest way to go about doing this but Gilbert brought it up once and I thought it was super creative and I wanted to surprise you.” Alfred took a deep breath. He looked up, straight into Arthur’s eyes, blue eyes overflowing with love and emotion and affection and everything Arthur could have ever asked for. 

“Do you know how much I love you? So much, darling, so much. I’m not great at words like you, or as expressive as those fancy books you read, so I’m going to have to do my best here. I had this speech planned out, you know, but I love you so much and I’m at a disadvantage here, so I’ll just stay in familiar territory. I love you, so, so much. So much. And I can’t see me anywhere without by my side, calling me a git, setting our kitchen on fire, and yelling at me for staying up later playing games. I want to be at your side for the rest of our lives, even though you’re the crankiest person that’s literally ever existed. But I really love you, you know? So this is my offer to you: marry me, and I promise I will do my best to never let you down and always keep loving you.”

Alfred pushed out the match box tray, revealing a thin platinum band. 

Moments passed in silence, Arthur’s eyes darting between the ring and Alfred. 

Then, slowly, Arthur reached for the ring, slipping it on his finger.

Alfred whooped, grabbing Arthur and swinging him around without giving him the chance to admire how his new ring looked on his finger. 

Arthur was still going to kill him, for that stunt, but at least he got a fiance out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap!  
> Thank you all for your lovely feedback and I hope you enjoyed this last drabble ~~

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Hetalia!  
> Also please talk to me I'm lonely and I really appreciate feedback ~~


End file.
